


Snow

by Haluwasa2



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, This is, based in an rp au, hotlock, more than driftrod, prisoner hot rod
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 09:21:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13143696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haluwasa2/pseuds/Haluwasa2
Summary: Deadlock takes his little Autobot prisoner out to see snow for the first time.A gift for my friend who Rps the Hot Rod to my Deadlock.





	Snow

With a sudden jolt, Hot Rod was tossed from his bed in the corner of Deadlock’s room. His chains rattled, the cuffs tightening as he was nearly flung across the room. He gasped, vents whirring with fear. Servoes steadied him gently and he looked up to red optics that should have reminded him of an inferno and not a warm hearth. Deadlock had stopped him from getting more hurt than he already had from the initial fling.

 

“Sorry,” he said, “We’re descending on one of our strongholds, but the organic weather here is bad.” It was what kept them from cyberforming the planet. They couldn’t reach the core with the terrible cold weather storms, but it also kept them well hidden from autobots. 

 

Hot Rod groaned and shrugged off Deadlock. He tugged at the cuffs to rub at his wrists. The turbulence had scratched them up, removing the paint. Gentle digits reached down and ghosted over his sore wrists. They hadn’t taken well to his captor’s choice of restraints. They wore at his metal easily and rust was starting to form. Deadlock seemed to realize this, digits going down a transformation seam in his wrist. Hot Rod’s cheeks heated up and tugged away his wrist.

 

Without a word, Deadlock rose and practically glided with how swiftly he walked. That was how it always was with him. He barely seemed to touch the floor. It only made sense really-- Deadlock was named correctly after all. He was just as deadly as his name implied. Hot Rod had experienced that first hand when he had tried to escape. The haunted optics of disappointment that had come when Deadlock had first saw him out of his chains though, that was what kept Hot Rod up at night. 

 

Just as quickly as he had stood, Deadlock had returned with a few cans of wax and paint. Hot Rod scoffed. He certainly was a pampered pet. The Decepticon flicked the Autobot captive’s audio and sat down. He spoke curtly as he unlocked one shackle, “Don’t be difficult.”

 

Hot Rod proceeded to be difficult.

 

He pulled his wrist away, trying to heat up his metal enough to make it at least uncomfortable for Deadlock to hold his wrist. Still, the Decepticon was made of stronger material. Deadlock wasn’t one of Megatron’s elite because he had a pretty face. Even Starscream, who it  _ was _ rumored to have his place at the table because Megatron found his lithe frame attractive, was selected for a reason. His hold was firm as he touched up the paint on Hot Rod’s wrist.

 

The Autobot succumbed. He wished the other wasn’t so strong, both emotionally and physically. He also wished that Deadlock wasn’t so kind. He could have had his way with Hot Rod at any time. He could beat the Autobot whenever he chose. Instead, he touched up his paint, fed him regularly, treated him with some amount of respect. He even tried to get Hot Rod to read. While he supplied other datapads from his collection, Deadlock insisted that Hot Rod keep a copy of  _ Towards Peace _ by his berth. Hot Rod refused it each and every day. And still the Decepticon treated him kindly. Hot Rod wished he wasn’t so drawn to him.

 

He also wished he wasn’t so extroverted. The silence was getting to him. 

 

“...So what  _ is _ the weather outside?”

 

“Snowing.”

 

“Sn...ow..ing?” repeated Hot Rod, unfamiliar with the word. It was hard to pronounce. Perhaps it was an organic term that was not in neo-Cybex.

 

“It’s solid water. Like ice, but softer.”

 

“Awww,” huffed Hot Rod, “We’ll be stuck in here. Rust.” He’d been hoping to at least make an escape attempt, but rust could easily stop him. Especially if this snow was bad.

 

“Not necessarily. We have our own version of that Autobot thing. Corrostop.” At this point, Deadlock had moved onto his other wrist. The one that was freshly painting was locked further up his arm so as to not disturb the paint. The shackles for his other hand lay strewn on the floor. It’d be so easy, were Deadlock any other mech save perhaps Megatron, to simply grab it  and use it to vault himself away. He could so easily put up a struggle and escape. Were it not Deadlock. 

 

And there was a part of him that really didn’t want to. For some odd reason, Hot Rod deep down hoped that he could change Deadlock just as much as Deadlock wanted to change him. It was a pulling desire. It was so similar to the pull that he felt in his spark whenever Deadlock was near. Deadlock was near far too often. His spark was practically magnetized to the edge of Hot Rod’s chamber, yearning to leap forth and cling to the Decepticon. 

 

“So when do I get to see this snow?” asked Hot Rod. 

 

“I’m getting supplies… We’ll see about after.” Deadlock was good to his troops. He usually gave them at least a day to relax once they stopped at a port or fuel up station. Sometimes, if it was a hub like this one, it was welcome. Other times, it seemed the ship would erupt from sheer boredom. Hot Rod felt like the latter on most days. He wasn’t used to sitting around in a room all day with not much to do. The chains of his shackles were long, but they would not permit him to leave the room or get too close to anything he shouldn’t.

 

Still, true to his word, Deadlock allowed him to see the snow. 

 

Cycles after the other had left, leaving Hot Rod with a longing pang in his spark and a warmth to his face metal that he did not care for, he returned. In his hand was a spray bottle of the Decepticon brand Corrostop which Hot Rod allowed him to spray his body down with. In place of his shackles, Deadlock attached an electric collar around his neck. The remote was in his hand. Should Hot Rod step out of line, Deadlock would shock him.

 

The collar was a cobalt sheened black with blinking blue decorative lights. There were three in the front, a slighter duller color than the rest of the lights. Before they exited the room, Deadlock slid a digit along them. They clicked open in unisons and a wire emerged. Hot Rod scowled.  _ A leash _ . 

 

“Just until we’re out of sight of the ship. I have a reputation you know,” said Deadlock, promise and warmth shining in his red optics. Rodimus wondered if they had always been red or if, at one time, they had been default blue like his own. He doubted that he would ever get used to a Deadlock with blue optics-- without that fireplace burning when he looked at the other. 

 

Deadlock made the walk to the outside blissfully short. He stopped for no one, took the less crowded hallways, and exited out the back. As the back door of the ship slid open, Hot Rod was taken aback. 

 

_ Snow was beautiful. _

 

A white blanket glistened over the planet they were. All thoughts of escape seemed to flee his mind as the cold tundra, sparkling like crystals against the bright sun shined back at him. His own armor reflected it back brightly. It was so perfect, as though it were a picture in a datapad. Hot Rod dared fear he step out into it and ruin something so serene… But then he remembered who he was. 

 

The leash slipped back into the collar with a snap and Hot Rod dashed forward. He could risk going too far, not with the electric collar, but he wandered out into the alien weather. In the distance, gray puffy clouds were rolling in. Signs of another snow, he assumed. It would cover his tracks as though he had never set foot into the snow, which was coming up to his ankles. He reached down and touched it, the ice cold seeping into his seams and melting… If he was not always so hot, the snow might have even made him shiver.

 

He could have stared at it, touched it forever. 

 

Life had other things in store. And by life, Hot Rod meant Deadlock. The back of his head erupted with a slight smack of ice and snow fell onto his shoulders and down by his feet. He whipped around to see Deadlock, already leaning into the snow and gathering it up into his hands, patting it into a sphere. Not to be outdone or threatened, Hot Rod quickly bent over and began doing the same.

 

He was faster and as he watched Deadlock take a snow sphere square in the face, he realized that, no, he’d never want Deadlock’s optics to be a default blue. But, he’d certainly like the sigil on his chest to match his eyes. 

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas, love!


End file.
